


You Know I Saw The Black Inside Your Eyes (I Saw They Were Eclipsed)

by IndigoNight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Ambiguous Relationships, Demonic Possession, Gen, Non-sexual dub-con, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Swearing, non-religious spiritual themes, spiritual aspects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: Sam is on Earth for a reason; he has a mission, and that mission isn't to save Bucky Barnes. But there's a demon running around wearing Bucky's body, and Sam is damn well going to make that his business.





	You Know I Saw The Black Inside Your Eyes (I Saw They Were Eclipsed)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the Sam Wilson Birthday Bang. Thank you so, so much to the mods for putting together this awesome event. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [Indy](http://indysartblog.tumblr.com) for the [beautiful, wonderful art](http://indysartblog.tumblr.com/post/165614624797/you-know-i-saw-the-black-inside-your-eyes-i-saw).
> 
> Thanks to [Sororising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/) for the advice and encouragement. Also, thanks to [BuckytheDucky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky) and [critter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsaer/pseuds/afearsomecritter) who are always so kind and wonderful and encouraging about all of my rambling.
> 
> Title taken from the song Eclipsed by Evans Blue.
> 
> Enjoy!

_”It’s time,” the Commander says. Her voice is as calm and level as it always is, with no inflection to speak of what’s to come._

_ He doesn’t startle; he’d felt her approach. He keeps his eyes on Steve, drowsing on a soft couch next to the stream on the far side of the Garden. “He still needs to rest,” he says - it isn’t really a protest, after all, if the time has come there is nothing he can do to change it. But he feels compelled to say it anyway; Steve has already suffered so much and his heart aches for the soldier.  _

_ Even in this place of peace, the grief that weighs so heavily on Steve is visible. It’s better, now; at first Steve could find no rest at all. He has heard Steve’s story - though he already knew it - he listened to Steve tell it in his own words, ached for Steve when his voice broke and his shoulders shook with tears. Time does not hold sway over the Garden the same way it does on Earth, but he worries that perhaps no matter how long Steve stays here it will never be enough. He knows that it is Steve’s lot to suffer, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. _

_ “Not for him,” the Commander corrects. There is almost a smile in her voice and he feels her shake her head. “His time will come, when the world needs him most. But it is important that you be in position, that you be ready, when  _ you _  are needed. When the time comes, he will return to the place that he left, as he was when he left it. But a new place, a new life must be made for you.” _

_ He nods. He knew that already, but now that it’s time something like excitement is brewing where a stomach would be in a corporeal being, though it is mixed with a sense of nervousness, anticipation. “Just let me say goodbye first,” he says. _

_ The Commander is definitely laughing now, her lips pursed and eyes dancing. “It is hardly goodbye. You will find him again. He will not remember his time in the Garden, but you will still know him as you do now.” _

_ “Still,” he insists. _

_ She makes an expansive gesture, urging him on. “Just remember,” she says, voice firm again, “the Soldier is not your mission.” _

_ He does not ignore the warning - that would be beyond foolish - but he sets it aside. Of course Steve isn’t his mission, but Steve’s role in what is to come is integral to their success. The Commander gestures him forward and he goes. _

_ Steve is stretched out on the couch, one hand pillowing his head and the other resting on his stomach. He’s beautiful - everything has an innate beauty here, but Steve is truly magnificent, golden light washing his skin to a healthy pink glow. His body is loose and relaxed in repose, yet even here, even in a place manifested of pure peace, there is a little wrinkle of a frown between Steve’s eyebrows. _

_ The grass is soft beside Steve’s couch, and he kneels down in it, reaching out to brush his fingers against Steve’s cheek. _

_ Steve stirs, blinking at him sleepily. Steve’s smile is drowsy, small but lazy and calm, and he can’t help but to mirror it. “Hey,” Steve says, reaching for him.  _

_ He wonders how different it will be to experience touch in a human body; he wonders if Steve will still reach for him. “I’m sorry to wake you.” _

_ It is a relief, and a joy, that Steve has taken to him so well. The hours they have spent together in the Garden have formed a warm glow of joy that fills his being, one that he will carry with him until he sees Steve again; he can only hope that when it is time for Steve to return to his own mission, he will still feel some echo of it too. Steve will not be able to remember the origin of their bond, but if he can carry it with him back to the corporeal world it will benefit their mission. And, perhaps it is selfish, but he does not like to think that Steve might reject him when they meet again. _

_ “It’s okay.” Steve pushes himself up on one elbow. “I’m always happy to see you.” _

_ He grimaces a little; it’s stupid to ache for this. He will find Steve again soon enough, and chances are neither of them will remember much - if anything - of having parted. “I have to go,” he says. He lets himself run his fingers through Steve’s hair, soft and gentle. _

_ Steve frowns. “Go? But-” _

_ He shakes his head, cutting Steve off. “It’ll be alright,” he assures, and he can’t help but to smile at Steve. “It’s just for a little while.” _

_ Steve doesn’t look appeased, but he gently nudges Steve back down onto the couch, brushing Steve’s hair back from his face and whispering ancient words of soothing until Steve goes loose and limp again.  _

_ “Rest a little while longer,” he says, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Steve’s temple. “I’ll be waiting for you.” _

*****

Steve Rogers has many admirable and inspiring qualities; his sleeping habits are not among them. Sam was prepared for nightmares, which do happen, frequently, and that’s bad enough. But, contrary to what some had hypothesized, when opportunity allows Steve actually needs _more_  sleep than non-enhanced people. Poor sleep makes him unbearably grumpy - which, actually, might explain at least forty percent of his reputation as a troublemaker. But, when Steve actually does manage to sleep well, he sleeps _deep_  and he sleeps  _hard_ , somehow both sprawling out across the entire bed while also wrapping himself octopus-like around any pillows, bedding, or living human beings who are unfortunate enough to be in reach.

He also snores. Loudly.

Luckily, Sam actually doesn’t need that much sleep himself; the older he gets, the less he sleeps, and Sam wonders if it means he’s becoming less human, moving away from mortality and back to his natural state. He’s never been human before, after all, so he isn’t entirely sure how the endgame works, but the decreased sleep seems to be following an inverse trajectory with his ability to manifest his powers, so overall, he considers it a benefit.

Steve is also extremely tactile. Maybe he’s always been like that, but Sam has a feeling that despite the rest and care Steve’s spirit had received in the Garden, his soul is still suffering from a sort of starvation. After all, his body spent seventy years frozen in ice, and then he came back to over two years of silently suffering severe trauma, not helped by being semi-intentionally  isolated from other people for so much of it. Sam definitely isn’t complaining; modern American society is not particularly tactile and it feels unnatural to be so disconnected from those around him. His memory of the Garden feels more like a half-forgotten dream than something he’s actually experienced, but he still feels the ache of loneliness at being so cut off from the rest of his kind. 

The air is thick and heavy tonight, and somehow that feels appropriate, like a storm is brewing. It’s been nearly a year since they crashed the helicarriers into the Potomac. Steve and Sam have spent nearly half of that time road tripping across the country, crashing in shitty roadside motels and hunting down HYDRA bases, most of which had turned out to be ashen craters by the time they arrived.

Sam won’t pretend that he’s particularly _loving_ living out of shitty motels off and on, but even when the close quarters get obnoxious, he is relieved to have Steve’s company. They’re fight for the same side, and ultimately Steve’s purpose aligns with Sam’s mission, but there had been no guarantee that they’d reignite the connection they made in the Garden - or that Steve would even _like_  him as a human. But it had been there instantly, and Sam had been ready for it. He was a little surprised, but delighted by Steve’s humor in teasing his limited human running abilities, by the way Steve had smiled at him, they way he’d been so open, so honest right away. It had caused the warmth of their bond to instantly flare up in Sam’s chest; the trials he knows he will face on this mission suddenly feeling lighter. And when Steve had come to him for help - Steve had said they had no other options, but Sam knows that isn’t really true, there are always other options - Steve had come to him, Steve had trusted him, maybe not even understanding why. It isn’t necessary to Sam’s mission, but it certainly makes this whole human experience better.

Well, maybe not this week specifically. It’s been a particularly bad week, and tonight Steve’s snores are full of the wet, snuffly sounds that are a byproduct of too much crying.

Steve had come straight off of an Avengers mission in Portugal to respond to a scrap of intel Sam had dug up. It sent them chasing down the east coast for five days straight, an exhausting marathon of finding HYDRA bases only hours after they’d been hollowed out and burned down. Finally, this afternoon, they’d caught up enough that the flames were still smouldering around the edges of the rubble. Steve had insisted on digging through the remains late into the night, determined to find _some_ trace, some lead to follow before the trail grew cold again. “He was here!” Steve had shouted at Sam, exhausted and overburdened, his hands bleeding from digging through torn chunks of concrete. “Bucky was right here!”

Steve wasn’t wrong, but the Winter Soldier doesn’t leave clues. Eventually, Sam had managed to drag Steve away and shove him into the nearest motel room. Steve had barely eaten the burgers Sam got them, too busy pacing and venting his frustrations. Sam listened patiently to what started out as strategizing, planning their next move, and increasingly devolved into circular rambling. It took forever, but finally Steve wound down enough for Sam to tip Steve over onto the bed - Steve is still not very good at self care, and unfortunately, this is not the first time he’s worked himself into an exhausted frenzy.

But he’d given in; no doubt too worn out to keep ranting. He’d settled down enough to start getting ready for bed, still muttering intermittently to himself. Except half way through removing his boots, Steve had just… stopped. He went very still, staring unblinkingly at the boot in his hand for several minutes.

“Steve?”

“What if he didn’t make it out,” Steve said, his voice slow as though coming from far away. “What if he was still in that base- we should have looked harder, we-” Steve’s voice had cut out, rough and thick, and then he’d simply crumpled forward as the tears overwhelmed him.

Honestly, Sam had been waiting for this kind of breakdown for months now. Steve is always so tightly wound, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s unfair, really, that Steve is expected to carry so much. Sam is glad that his own mission allows him to stay close to Steve, to support him, to watch his back.

When it became clear that Steve was spiraling down to a total collapse, Sam had carefully finished putting Steve’s boots away. He’d settled in to let Steve cry on his shoulder - literally, because otherwise Steve will find some way to bottle up his emotions and refuse the release he so desperately needs - except when Steve had given in and collapsed completely sidewise, Sam had ended up accidentally trapped under two hundred and twenty pounds of sobbing supersoldier.

That’s fine. Crying is an important cathartic release which Steve definitely needs, and Sam enjoys the comfort of physical contact too. Except that when Steve finally fell asleep he’d more or less wrapped his entire body around Sam and is now snoring directly into Sam’s ear. It was kind of nice, at first, but it is also swelteringly hot and slowly crushing Sam’s internal organs.

More importantly, Sam has work to do. And as comfortable and endearing as Steve’s clinginess can be, it also makes sneaking out at night _frustratingly difficult_.

It takes Sam a full twenty minutes of carefully prying Steve loose and wiggling out from under him. Steve grumbles and almost wakes up four times. At one point, Steve inexplicably decides to roll all the way over taking Sam with him, which is a bit of a wild ride, and then Sam has to stop and muffle his laughter in the nearest pillow for an extra five minutes. 

Eventually, Sam manages to get most of the way out of bed, except that Steve’s hand is still wrapped in a vice-like grip around his wrist. The crease between Steve’s eyebrows is deeper than ever - that crease is always there when Steve sleeps, even in the Garden Steve had frowned in his sleep. On another night, Sam might have given up; Steve needs both sleep and comfort.

But tonight is important. They’ve been slowly but steadily catching up to their quarry, and Sam can feel him now, how close they finally are. So he leans in, whispering a few quiet, ancient words into Steve’s ear, and pressing a light kiss to Steve’s fingers before prying them loose. Steve lets out a slow, deep sigh and settles back into the bed, clutching both pillows to his chest instead.

The spell won’t last long, in a few minutes Steve will settle back into a natural sleep - Sam wouldn’t dare leave Steve vulnerable like that, and Sam feels guilty about using it at all without Steve’s consent. So Sam moves quickly as he pulls his clothes back on. He balances awkwardly on one foot and then the other to tie his shoes, trying to move as fast as he can without the risk of Steve waking up. His wings are resting against the wall on what had started out as his side of the room, and Sam scoops them up carefully, also grabbing his sidearm and checking the magazine automatically - he hopes he won’t have to use it, but he has to be prepared for any eventuality, even the hardest one. 

He pauses, for just a moment, in the doorway, looking back at Steve who still looks miserable but is flopped onto his stomach, curling his whole large frame around the entire bundle of pillows and blankets. Sam wishes he could promise Steve that everything would be okay, but that’s too far beyond the scope of his powers, and the inescapable reality is that the results of Sam’s actions tonight might end up being the last thing Steve wants; but Sam has a duty to the greater good, and he has to see it through no matter how much it sucks. The best he can do is promise that, one way or another, it will be done soon.

*****

There is nothing quite like flying over a strange city in the dark of the night. Of course, nights aren’t really all that dark any more; there was a time, long ago when the world was still new, when Sam and his cohort could fly night after night, half way across the world and not see a single light. Not that his human brain really remembers that, but he does remember the sensation of vastness, the thrill of the unknown.

He’s not as quiet now as he was then either, with the thrum of the engines in his mechanical wings heralding his approach. Luckily, they aren’t loud enough to disturb the innocent humans, most of whom are either sleeping in their beds or too consumed with their own problems to notice him. And it’s not like he’s going to catch his quarry by surprise anyway. The Winter Soldier knows he’s being hunted. Sam can’t predict what else the Winter Soldier knows, if he understands why Steve follows him; but he must have seen, even in those brief moments of combat on the helicarrier, that Sam is different.

Sam coasts low over the city. He doesn’t bother with the goggles when he out on his own; he doesn’t need them as a pretext to explain his enhanced vision if no one is watching. He sweeps the streets distractedly as he flies, but with no real purpose to it; he isn’t going to find the Winter Soldier down some random alley. But he is close, it’s a vague but instinctual sense, hovering just at the edge of Sam’s awareness. 

He heads back toward the former HYDRA base, no longer smouldering and now sectioned off by local authorities. The police don’t know what happened, not really, all they know is that part of the warehouse district at the edge of town burned down; they’re investigating it as arson, but they won’t find any more clues than Sam and Steve did. 

Sam stays hovering well above the rubble, out of sight of the patrol men tasked with guarding the scene. There isn’t actually anything new to see, but it’s as good a starting place as any. Maybe he’s fooling himself, creeping out at night revisit where he and Steve have already been, to stare at the same lack of clues they’ve already exhausted. Maybe all he really wants is the freedom of the fresh night air, the boundless joy of flight; it had been a gift - though likely not a coincidence - when he’d been chosen for the Falcon program, and it had gutted him to give up the wings when he left the military.

But something is different, he thinks, tonight. An anticipatory tension in the air. He can feel it, knows it in the same way he knew to set up his jogging route around the National Mall, the same way he knew when - after three weeks of running circles around each other - to finally introduce himself to Steve, and the same way he knew that if he showed Steve and Natasha his military file that they would get his wings back for him. The same instinct, something innate and inhuman in the core of his being, that has been guiding his entire human life, that brought him here.

One way or another, his hunt ends tonight.

He’s preparing to move away from the scene, with vague plans of drifting over the city for a while in aimless search. He doesn’t know _how_  to find the Winter Soldier, except maybe to trust in fate. But, more than anything, he isn’t ready to return to the constrained, oppressive space of their small motel room. So he flies, enjoying the rush of cool late night air against his face, and hoping.

A familiar screech draws his attention and he follows the sound to land in a copse of trees at the center of a nearby park. He grins as Redwing perches on his shoulder, the faint prick of the falcon’s talons gripping his shoulder reassuring. He’d met Redwing when he was first training for the Falcon project; he hadn’t meant to bond with the falcon, but Redwing had been injured, and Sam had been lonely. Sam doesn’t ask anything of Redwing - he has no wish to endanger his friend - but Redwing follows him by choice, not always and never too close. But he seems to always know where to find Sam, and when to find him, and Sam always appreciates his company. 

Tonight, Redwing comes with news of a predator in the city. Close. Redwing thinks that the predator is waiting. Waiting for Sam, just as Sam has been waiting for him.

Sam has spent a lot of the past thirty-two years waiting. He didn’t know it, at first. He didn’t know it for a long time. He began to get a sense of it when the military gave him wings, when his human form felt the thrill of flight and his spirit knew the sensation like an old friend. But he didn’t know what he was waiting for, not until the Chitauri fell out of the sky and he started to remember the Garden, remember that he has a mission. He doesn’t know the details, can barely see one step ahead at a time; he only knows that, whatever it is, if he sticks close to the Avengers, to Steve, he’ll be in the thick of it when the time comes. Something bigger than the Chitauri is coming, something worse.

It’s frustrating, to be so limited. He knows that before he was human he could see, could hear, could _know_  so much more. But if he wasn’t human he wouldn’t have been able to take down that helicarrier, he wouldn’t be able to comfort Steve, he wouldn’t know Steve _needs_  comfort. The Winter Soldier isn’t Sam’s mission, and neither is Steve; the Powers aren’t interested in individual souls, not enough to put an agent in place just to assist them. Steve may be Sam’s connection to the mission, but he is peripheral to the end result. The Winter Soldier may not be relevant to Sam’s mission at all, but Bucky Barnes matters to Steve, and Steve matters to Sam; it’s a risk the Powers took in making him human. The mission the Powers intended for him is just beginning, little more than a cloud on the horizon. But Steve can’t help fight the brewing storm if he’s consumed with thoughts of Bucky Barnes; and Sam hates to watch the way Steve is tearing himself apart over it. 

Sam won’t neglect his true mission, but until the moment comes when the cosmos needs him, finding the Winter Soldier is the most important thing. And he has to do it before anyone else does, especially Steve. Because the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes are not one and the same; the Winter Soldier has to be stopped, and there might not be enough of Bucky Barnes left to save. It’s possibility that Sam doesn’t think Steve could ever be prepared for, that Steve might not be able to go through with, no matter what the consequence. In a way, it’s selfish, what Sam is doing. Maybe he is going too far off mission, maybe this is something that, one way or another, Steve is _supposed_  to do. But Sam doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. If it comes down to it, Sam isn’t going to let Steve be the one to kill the last connection he has to his old life.

And now Redwing has finally given him the information he needs to bring this to an end, whatever that end may be. It’s a relief, and it’s terrifying, but there’s no time to brace himself, no time to prepare.

Sam thanks Redwing, stroking a hand down his soft feathers fondly before Redwing takes off to return to his own business. Sam hesitates a moment longer, craning his neck back to stare up at the few stars visible through the city’s light pollution. He takes a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs all the way down, then he fires up the engines in his wings and takes off.

It’s time to find the Winter Soldier and end this.

******

The Winter Soldier is waiting for him on the roof of a high-rise apartment complex. He’s leaning against the low wall edging the roof, looking out over the city. His posture, at first glance, is casual, almost bored, but there is a gun resting on the balustrade next to his metal hand. 

Sam doesn’t bother with stealth; the Winter Soldier knows he’s coming. Sam’s been letting his power build as he flew, a tight, hot bubble in the center of his chest, pulsing and growing stronger as he concentrates. He hits the smooth concrete of the roof with running momentum, letting his power expand out until his whole body is glowing with it. The power pools in the palms of his hands; he has a gun of his own, but why bother pretending when neither of them actually needs a human weapon.

The Winter Soldier swears, but he isn’t quite fast enough to dodge out of the way before Sam slams into him. They go over the balustrade together, Sam forcing the power in his hands outward, blasting the Winter Soldier in the chest with a flash of light made physical. The both land hard on the rooftop of the next building over and the Winter Soldier rolls away, making it back to his feet and planting himself in a ready, braced stance.

“What the fuck!” he shouts, glowering at Sam and looking more annoyed than anything. “Can’t you just say hello like a normal person?” At first glance he looks normal, looks human, Bucky Barnes’ handsome face portraying a crooked sort of annoyed humor. But Sam can see behind the facade, can see the flicker of an inhuman shadow lurking underneath Bucky Barnes’ skin. There’s also an eerie stiffness to the Winter Soldier’s movements, just a little too sharp, a little too abrupt to be human. The hollow wrongness on the face of a man Sam has come to know through Steve’s stories as kind and passionate is unsettling, but it matches the shadow flickering just underneath the skin of Bucky Barnes’ face, the shadow that no human would be able to see.

Power is still pooling in Sam’s hands, making the flesh tingle slightly with the heat of it, the glow forming a sort of floodlight around him. He doesn’t drop his guard, but he doesn’t attack again either; this isn’t the reaction he’d expected from the Winter Soldier, and it’s caught him off guard.

The Winter Soldier hasn’t dropped his guard either, but there’s something somehow… wrong, about his posture. He’s ready, braced for attack, but he’s hunched, defensive. There’s a strange, jerky quality to his movements, almost like a two second lag on a television, going from inhumanly still to the end of a motion while seeming to skip the in between steps. “You don’t have to show off for me, _angel_ ,” he says, and it’s an insult, harsh but slightly offkey. 

“I don’t want to fight.” Sam keeps his voice forceful; it’s nothing like the inspiring command Steve can put into his voice, but it still gets his message across.

The Winter Soldier snorts and rolls his eyes. “You have a funny way of showing it,” he mutters. Sam has never dealt directly with the other side before, but he thinks - he _knows_ , on an instinctual level - that this is not normal. 

“I’m not here for you. Let go of Bucky Barnes; leave him and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wow, you know, that’s a really convincing argument, I guess I’ll just be on my way,” the Winter Soldier says, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize your side cared so much about the Sergeant here.” A pause, tilting his head as he considers Sam. There’s a dangerous glitter in his eyes, and Bucky’s mouth curls into a smirk that is too wide, too sharp to be natural. “Unless… you’re off mission. Your side doesn’t care about individuals. And even if they did, Barnes was supposed to die in ‘45, he can’t be that significant.”

Sam grits his teeth; it’s a _side mission_ he tells himself. It’s a fragile justification, but they stuck him in a human body and made him live a human life, he’s entitled to making human choices. When the time comes, he’ll be ready to stand on the side of Good, ready to fight the Big Fight. Until then, well, he has free will just like every other human. 

“If he’s not significant, then you don’t need him,” Sam says, stubborn and still hopeful. If there’s anything of Bucky Barnes left in there, Sam is going to try his damndest to get him back, to bring him home to Steve.

The Winter Soldier snarls, and his whole demeanor changes, any vestige of a casual facade vanishing and he bristles, his own power rising and rolling off of Bucky’s skin with enough force that even a human would notice the difference. “You think I _want_  to be in this meatsuit?” he snarls, starting to pace, a few steps toward Sam before he catches himself, then sideways and then back again, like a trapped animal on a very short leash. “You guys might get off on skirting the rules by playing human, but I sure as hell don’t.” His power is like electricity, lightning crackling in miniature just under the surface of his skin.

Sam watches, wary and uncertain. He hadn’t known exactly what to expect when his hunt reached its climax; a fight, probably. Violence and rage like the Winter Soldier had show on the helicarriers; chaotic, careless destruction that Sam has always been taught to expect from the other side. But not this, not this barely contained frenzy. There is rage, certainly, violence aplenty, but nothing has led Sam to expect this defensiveness, this desperation. “You were working for HYDRA,” he says. That isn’t a question, it isn’t a suspicion, it’s an indisputable fact that Sam had witnessed himself.

The Winter Soldier makes a hoarse sound that isn’t so much a laugh as it is the sound of dry bones rattling in dust and spits on the concrete at his feet. “You think I was working _for_  those shithead? Fuck them! A bunch of self righteous primates who think they know what’s up. So fucking full of themselves.”

Sam is aware that this could be a ruse, some sort of trick to get him to lower his guard; but if it is, it’s working. He doesn’t stand down completely, but he lets his power draw back in toward his core, his light dimming down to a soft glow while he watches the Winter Soldier pace.

“You know, before all this, I had a pretty good job. Cushy, really. I specialized in jealousy; little stuff, you know? Paranoid lovers, conflict between coworkers. I never really liked blood.” The metal arm jerks, seemingly making a motion independently of the rest of the body, like he’s trying to swat away a particularly gigantic and frustrating fly, then he stops and does that eerie too wide, too sharp grin again. “Of course, I’ve got a bit of a taste for it now.”

Sam risks one step closer, drawn in - whether he likes it or not - by the knot of tension and contradiction in front of him; this goes against everything he was taught to expect from the other side. “So that’s why you’ve been going after them since D.C.,” he says slowly - one mystery solved, at least. “They actually were controlling you. But even so, isn’t HYDRA working for your side? Aren’t you worried your bosses will be mad?”

The Winter Soldier shakes his head again and snorts. “We may be evil, but we follow the rules. HYDRA’s cheating. They’re messing with powers they’ve got no damn right too; they never should have gotten their hands on me like they did, and they’re still trying to go bigger. Besides, I’ve been off mission for sixty damn years and no one bothered to so much as check in. You really think I give a shit what my _Bosses_  want anymore?”

Well, Sam can’t exactly disagree with that; and the irony of finding out that at least one group of nazis are so bad that a  _demon_  wants nothing to do with them is sort of hilarious in a way that Sam appreciates more than ever thanks to his current human experience. “I stand by what I said before,” he says - though it can’t be this easy, “go after the nazis all you want, but you don’t need Bucky for that. Wouldn’t it be easier in your natural form anyway?” There are benefits to a human body, but Sam’s powers are dampened by the limitations of being corporeal, and he can’t imagine it’s much better for the Winter Soldier, especially since he’s  _sharing_  a body, rather than living in one specifically made to hold him.

The Winter Soldier pauses, something in his expression going shifty. “Look, I’d love to get out of this flesh-heap,” he says, except he doesn’t add the ‘but’ that clearly should have come next. 

Sam stares, squinting to better see through the flesh at the shadow flickering underneath. He reads… hesitance, and… protectiveness? That can’t be right. “Is Bucky still in there?” Sam asks. If he were in his natural form he’d be able to see Bucky’s soul - or absence thereof - in the body, but with his human eyes he can’t be sure.

The Winter Soldier’s jaw tics, and when he answers it sounds reluctant. “Yes. He’s here,” he says stiffly. “Barely.”

Honestly, it would have been easier if Bucky’s soul was gone. Then Sam wouldn’t have to read between the lines of what the Winter Soldier is saying; Bucky Barnes _should_  have died in 1945, his soul is hanging onto his body by a thread - a supernatural thread. But there’s something else in the Winter Soldier’s tone, an undercurrent that Sam doesn’t understand. “You care about him,” he says, and it’s not a guess even though it doesn’t make any sense.

The Winter Soldier actually looks… uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. “You try sharing a body with a guy for sixty years,” he mutters, chin sticking out mulishly as though stubbornness will cancel out his embarrassment. “You might get used to having a fella around.”

Sam… does not know how to respond to that. “I, uh, I didn’t realize your kind could-” Sam fumbles, feeling absurd even as he starts to say the words.

The Winter Soldier rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and everyone on your side is soft and cuddly all the time.” He huffs. “We feel as much as you do.” He fidgets, the irritation and frustration rolling off of him barely covering something more vulnerable lurking underneath. “Look, I want to wipe HYDRA off of the face of this stupid planet, and you want to reunite Captain America with his long lost bestie like the sappy ending to the world’s shittiest movie. Maybe we can… strike a deal.”

Sam snorts incredulously before he can catch himself. “You think I’m going to make a deal, with a  _demon_?”

“We might be evil, but we play by the rules. If we strike a deal you know I’ll stick to it,” he growls, defensive and offended. “Besides, I can’t imagine your side is any happier about HYDRA fucking around with us than I am, so it’s kind of a win/win for you, isn’t it?”

Sam can’t help considering it; after all, the Winter Soldier does have a point. “What would be the terms, exactly?” he asks, cautiously.

“You let me wipe out HYDRA, _thoroughly_. Hell, you can help if you want,” the Winter Soldier shrugs. “Captain America is going after them too, when he’s not chasing me, right? So we team up. And in our downtime, Rogers gets Bucky.”

“What happens when HYDRA’s gone?” Sam asks.

The Winter Soldier pauses. “We deal with that when we get to it,” he suggests, which is vague and noncommittal, but for some reason Sam doesn’t sense any underlying threat.

“I want to talk to Barnes,” he says, firmly. “It’s his body, after all, he gets a say.” That’s non-negotiable; if this deal is going to work the Winter Soldier has to let Bucky have control sometimes anyway. “And no tricks, I’ll know,” he adds in warning.

The Winter Soldier spreads his arms as though to gesture nonthreatening innocence. “Of course. Just be careful; it’s been awhile since he had to deal with the real world, he might be… fragile.”

It hits Sam, in an unsettling way, that this _demon_  genuinely does care. It’s hard to believe; maybe Sam doesn’t  _want_  to believe it. But he can feel it, the honesty, the genuine protectiveness radiating off of the Winter Soldier. “I’ll be nice,” he promises, with significantly less sarcasm than he feels the statement deserves.

“I’ll hold you to that,” the Winter Soldier mutters.

The shift is abrupt. Between one blink and the next the shadow behind Bucky’s face shrinks down to just a faint glint in the corner of his eyes. Bucky makes a soft sound like a gasp and stumbles forward a step, just catching himself on his hands and knees.

Sam moves forward immediately, instinctively. He can feel Bucky’s soul now, can feel how weak it is, how poorly tethered to his own body. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. He grips Bucky’s shoulder to steady him, medic-mode kicking in instinctively. “My name is Sam Wil-”

“I know,” Bucky says. His voice is softer than the Winter Soldier’s, less gravelly but somehow deeper. “I can… see, sometimes. And he talks to me.” He has to pause between some of his words, his breath uneven and labored. “Sorry he kicked you off that helicarrier. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I want to see Steve,” Bucky cuts in, not quite letting Sam finish his sentence first, like he’s run out of patience for small talk; and, well, Sam can’t really fault him for that.

“Of course, I’ll take you now-”

“Do we have a deal?” The shift is subtler this time, but Sam knows what to look for now and he can still see Bucky around the edges of the Winter Soldier’s shadow.

“We help you wipe out HYDRA. And the rest of the time, Bucky gets control,” Sam says, because he wants to be clear, because he knows better than to leave any loopholes for a _demon_  to wiggle through. “And when HYDRA’s gone, Bucky gets a say in what happens next.”

“Fine by me,” the Winter Soldier says, stretching Bucky’s mouth into a crooked grin.

“It’s okay,” Bucky adds, and it’s not a complete shift any more, like a candle flaring and flicking irregularly. “He really didn’t want, well-” Bucky pauses, looking slightly rueful and shrugs, “ _most_  of the things HYDRA forced on him.” Bucky swallows, blinking a little too hard. “On us. He’s not so bad, once you get to know him.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” the Winter Soldier interjects, and it’s sarcastic, but the kind of sarcasm Sam is used to hearing exchanged between two good friends.

“Okay, fine. We have a deal. But one more caveat,” Sam adds, narrowing his eyes at the two of them. “Don’t do this… sharing thing in front of Steve. Not until we’ve explained everything to him.”

Bucky blinks, and the Winter Soldier grins, and it is not getting any less unsettling to watch them. “He doesn’t know about you?” Bucky asks.

Sam grimaces and shrugs. “I kept waiting for the right time. Which, I guess, is now. I just think we should break it to him gently.”

“Let’s get moving then,” the Winter Soldier says, and Sam can feel Bucky echoing his impatience. 

*****

It had been late when Sam made it out of the motel room to begin with, and the palest beginnings of dawn had started to spread across the sky during their conversation. When they make it back to the motel dawn has fully broken. It casts the cracked parking lot of the run down motel in a soft light that almost makes it look less depressing.

Bucky hesitates, stumbling to a stop just of outside the door. The Winter Soldier is curled up tight, still watching through the corner of Bucky’s eye, but Bucky has full control and he’s shaky and anxious all over.

Sam pauses, his hand on the doorknob. Bucky’s gone very pale and he takes half a step back, shaking his head. 

“I can’t- what if-” Bucky mutters. His eyes are too wide and Sam can see the shadow starting to expand again in the whites of Bucky’s eyes, almost as though it’s responding to Bucky’s fear.

Sam steps away from the door, moving back to Bucky. He pauses long enough to give Bucky warning, a chance to refuse, before he rests a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “He’ll be so glad to see you, nothing else will matter,” Sam tells him quietly. It’s true, missing Bucky, worrying over him, has been tearing apart Steve’s soul; it’s a wound so deep that even in the Garden Steve was never able to find true rest.

Bucky takes a breath deep enough to shake his whole body and the metal arm makes a whirring sound as the interlocked plate shift and resettle; Sam wonders, absently, if Bucky could control the metal arm or if it belongs exclusively to the Winter Soldier. His eyes flick from Sam to the door and back again, and he nods grimly. “Okay,” he says, his voice still shaky. “Okay,” he repeats, the anxiety receding back under a shield of stubborn determination.

Sam grins and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “Get ready to have your spine readjusted,” he warns. “And your organs crushed a little. He is a very enthusiastic hugger.”

“Always was,” Bucky says, echoing back a smaller version of Sam’s grin. And Sam gets it; Sam is nervous too, a little uncertain, but it’s hard to focus on that, hard to worry around the bubble of relieved excitement filling his chest.

Sam gives Bucky another minute. Inside the motel room he can just hear the shower shutting off; Steve is awake and will be wondering where Sam is soon. It isn’t the first time Sam hasn’t made it back before Steve wakes up - he usually covers it with some excuse about picking up breakfast, but there’s no point in making excuses now. “Ready?” he asks.

Bucky takes one more breath and nods, but he’s gripping Sam’s arm in a way that is almost too tight. Sam doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t try to push Bucky off as he unlocks the motel room door and ushers Bucky inside. 

They have a little less than a minute for Sam to take off his wings and Bucky to fidget anxiously before Steve emerges from the bathroom. He’s still damp, hair sticking up in all directions and only partially dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. But he stops dead the second he sees them, his face going so pale that Sam can see the veins showing through his skin.

“Buck-” Steve starts, but he can’t seem to finish, staring open mouthed.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says, though talking doesn’t seem to be any easier for him, and Sam can feel Bucky shaking where he’s almost leaning into Sam’s side.

Then Steve is across the room and hugging Bucky almost too fast to see. Just as Sam predicted, he hears Bucky’s spine pop and crack. Bucky goes stiff at first, hesitant, but then he melts into Steve, his hands gripping the back of Steve’s shirt tight enough that it might rip and his face buried in the crook of Steve’s neck.

Sam quietly moves away, but Steve and Bucky stay that way for a long time. Long enough that Sam is contemplating giving them full privacy - maybe going to pick up some breakfast after all.

But it’s Bucky who pulls back first. He lets Steve keep a grip on his arm, though he pulls the rest of his body away at an angle, hunching in on himself. He’s still pale, but with a faint flush to his cheeks now, and his breathing is steady. Sam watches the Winter Soldier flicker behind Bucky’s eyes, but it’s behaving itself and letting Bucky keep control.

“Sorry, so-” Steve starts and stops a few times, looking both overwhelmed and over the moon. “God, Bucky, I just… I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Thanks to Sam,” Bucky says, shooting Sam a grateful and strangely shy look.

Steve takes his eyes off of Bucky for the first time, looking up at Sam. Sam had known that finding the Winter Soldier, and saving Bucky if he could, was the right thing to do. He’d _wanted_  to do it, for a lot of reasons, Steve’s happiness not the least of them; but somehow he had not been prepared for the depth of emotion Steve’s displaying. It’s radiating off of Steve’s entire body, and it’s something that goes beyond relief, beyond happiness, something that maybe there isn’t even a word for, at least not one that a human tongue can shape.

“You found him,” Steve says, and he still hasn’t fully let go of Bucky but he’s blinking hard and staring at Sam. “How- I mean, I knew you were-” Steve cuts off again, swallowing hard and shaking his head. Sam… would really like to hear the end of that sentence. It feels like at least the tenth time in the past six hours that he’s been caught off guard, but he’d always just assumed that Steve didn’t suspect anything, that Steve _couldn’t_  remember the garden, he’d never tried to ask.

“I, uh, I guess we have a lot to talk about,” Sam says, feeling a little chagrined. 

“Yeah, we do.” But Steve reaches out, pulling Sam in with his free arm until Sam is snugged up against his side just as much as Bucky is. “But breakfast first, okay?”

Sam glances at Bucky, and the _demon_  flickering just behind Bucky’s eyes. “Deal,” Bucky and the Winter Soldier say at once, and Sam grins.

“Deal,” he agrees.

[Beautiful art](http://indysartblog.tumblr.com/post/165614624797/you-know-i-saw-the-black-inside-your-eyes-i-saw) by [Indy](http://indysartblog.tumblr.com)


End file.
